Free
by lcwriting
Summary: She is free. She is alone. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between the two.


Before she can even collect her thoughts, it is over.

The door slams behind her, leaving her alone in a sea of blue and gold. Alone - for the first time, completely, truly alone.

There will be no voice - friendly or otherwise - watching over her, no one telling her what to do.

Life, as far as she can remember, has been one straight path to follow. Now, it is infinite, spreading out in all directions, with no marked trail. No puzzles, no rules, no direction. For the first time since she can remember, every choice she makes is hers and hers alone.

She is her own person. She is free.

And she has no idea what to do next.

Taking her first, tentative steps of freedom, she walks slowly around the shed - funny, that shed, so simple, so run down, no one would ever guess what worlds it holds within. She turns her gaze outwards, toward her new horizons –huge, unlimited – and there is nothing, nothing but endless fields of wheat.

Well, she thinks, there must be something, somewhere.

And it is hers to find.

Circling back to the front of the shed, she stares at the door one last time, almost in disbelief, taking a deep breath and saying a silent goodbye to the only life she has ever known. She backs away from the door - slowly, at first, and then quickly, and soon, she is turning and running straight away from that door, away from that life, away from the horrors behind her.

She is free.

She is free.

She repeats this to herself over and over, a running mantra in her head.

She runs until she can't run anymore, collapsing into the ever expanding fields, exhausted yet happy, feeling the hot sun and cool breeze on her skin, and she lies there and stares up into the brilliant blue sky, in awe of these feelings and colors and everything she has fought for and the fact that it exists, that there is a sky of this color, a bluer blue than she could have ever imagined, and it's here and it's hers and she is free.

She lies there as the sun sets, beginning to feel the pangs of hunger that are certain after 999999- days without food.

She lies there as the stars come out, suddenly wishing to hear a kind voice or any voice at all, really; wanting someone, anyone, to be there with her, and then she looks at the moon, and all of a sudden, she is back there. She is back there and she can remember every moment of that final encounter, of the huge rush of air, and the panic and the fear, and the holding on for life, and then the absolute terror, and the out of nowhere act of kindness that saved her life - she can still feel it all. She feels it all, and suddenly, it is too much.

She cries until she falls asleep.

When she awakens, it is morning, the sun is up, and the sky is just as blue as the day before - though maybe not as brilliant. She takes in her surroundings, reminding herself for the millionth time that it is over, she is free, nothing but fields and clear skies surround her. Only a tiny speck on the horizon can remind her of where she came from, where she is running from, and that she is not far enough away, not while she can still see it.

She carries on with her journey.

Hours pass, the miles stretch on, the fields turn to woods, and the woods reveal their treasure - bushes of berries and a small stream of clean water.

She is free and she has food and she has water and she is alive.

And now, she asks herself, where to go from here?

She could stay here for a while and rest - living on berries and water won't keep her alive forever, but it's a start.

She could collect all the food she can carry and keep on walking in hopes of finding something more – people, maybe, hopefully – but who knows how long that might take, and what happens when her food supply runs out?

There has to be an answer. There has to. She has fought for her life – fought for it and won – and she is alive and free and she will not die. She is better than that; she is stronger than that. She must be.

That night, she finds a clear spot and lies down, staring up at the sky once again, this time, trying her hardest to ignore the moon and all the painful memories it seems to bring back, and instead focusing on just admiring the stars, taking in all the beauty of this world she is now free to explore. She is staring up at the sky, how beautiful it is, and – she can't keep the memories out of her head – remembering that she's been there, she's been to space, she's seen this Earth from up above, looking so big and so small at the same time, and it is just a tiny speck in the vastness of the universe.

And, she realizes, so is she. She is one tiny person wandering around this universe, completely alone. She may have survived her trip to space, but she is not special, the universe is not looking out for her. No, the universe does not seem to be showing her much kindness at all. She is insignificant, the universe does not care if she lives or dies. She is here, she is alive, and that is all.

What happens to people like herself, she wonders, people who the universe forgets?

She knows the answer, of course – nothing. Nothing happens to them. They wander, alone. No one looks for them; no one wonders what happened to them.

They live and they die, alone.

She pushes the thoughts away, going to sleep, and in the morning, gathers as much food as she can and chooses to continue on her journey.

She wanders on, finding nourishment where she can, sometimes finding a cabin or truck or some other relic, a sign of some past civilization that seems to have vanished. She wonders what happened; what disaster could have left this world so desolate. She has fought for her life and won, and this – this is her prize?

She carries on.

Every night, the sky haunts her.

She refuses to look at the moon.

She comes to hate the stars. Though she is always alone, and knows it well, they have a way of reminding her of how truly alone she is.

The universe has forgotten her. She is nothing but a lone wanderer now.

No one is looking for her; no one is here to help her, to guide her, to love her.

Everything she does is on her own – her own choice, her own decision, her own will.

She is free.

She is alone.

She is free.

Free.

What did that word mean again?


End file.
